


we'll collect the moments one by one

by hypotheticalfanfic



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypotheticalfanfic/pseuds/hypotheticalfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A phone call, an argument, a wedding, a baby. Pure unadulterated fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll collect the moments one by one

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мы соберем моменты один за другим](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210229) by [arisu_aiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisu_aiko/pseuds/arisu_aiko)



Arthur sounds tired when he answers the phone. “Eames, jesus, it’s three in the morning.” 

Eames just listens, because even tired and cranky and thick with sleep Arthur’s voice is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “I love you.” Normally they don’t say that, really, not bald and blunt like that. But oh, god, he doesn’t care, he hasn’t spoken to Arthur in fourteen hours and he hasn’t seen him in three weeks and he can’t bear it anymore. “Hello, Arthur, I’ve missed you terribly.”

The chuckle Arthur gives him sounds slightly less sleepy, and Eames can’t even breathe because he loves him so much. It’s not really on purpose, the next thing he says, but once it’s out there he realizes he’s been thinking it for a year and he doesn’t regret it at all. “Marry me.”

There’s a crackling noise in his ear as Arthur whooshes out a sigh, or maybe it’s a gasp. It’s hard to tell, the connection is shit, and Eames would shoot dozes of people if it meant he could be home, asking Arthur properly, instead of this way. 

“What, Eames?” Not offended, Eames knows what Arthur’s offended voice sounds like. This voice is coated with confusion, maybe, a touch of concern. “Are you wasted?”

“I’m not drunk, Arthur,” well, he’s not  _drunk_ , certainly. He’s had a few, yes, but he’s not drunk, and even if he was it wouldn’t make him mean it any less. “Marry me. Pet, please, please marry me. Don’t make me go on these fucking terrible jobs with these abysmal point men ever again,” and now all the words he’s held back for too long are spilling out. “You’re the only person I don’t just fucking  _hate_ , Arthur, and I love you, and I love the stupid shit you wear. I love that you can’t eat shellfish or dairy or soy or anything worth eating. I love that you have more guns than I have pants. I love that you gutted a man the first time we met and smiled at me right after. I love that you snore like a fucking banshee, I love that you get sick every winter and act like an infant, I love that you are incapable of human speech before sucking down that swill you call espresso, and it’s _es_ presso, pet, not  _ex_ presso, how the fuck do you not have any other Midwesternisms except that one, seriously—”

“Eames, Eames, shhh, shut up.” He’s laughing, though, and Eames starts to laugh, too, because he couldn’t have proposed any other way, really. “Shut up, Eames, shh. I’ll think about it, all right? Go to sleep.”

His mouth doesn’t quite form a refusal before Eames drops off into deep, snoring sleep; he doesn’t hear Arthur chuckle into the phone and hang up.

—-

_You remember last night? - Arthur_

_of bloody course. marry me - e_

_Why? What would change? - Arthur_

_we’d be married & u’d get to lord it over everyone, know how much u like that - e_

_That’s not why. Why should we get married? - Arthur_

_make it real - e_

_Texting every five minutes and living together aren’t enough to make it real for you, Mr. Eames? - Arthur_

_not what i meant & u know it - e_

_What did you mean? - Arthur_

_u wouldn’t be able to just leave when i piss u off - e_

_Do you really think I’d just leave you like that? - Arthur_

_no reason 4 u not 2 - e_

_Stop doing that, I hate that; you’re capable of using real words. - Arthur_

_You’re the reason I wouldn’t leave you, Eames. Don’t you know that? - Arthur_

_You and your ugly clothes and your tongue and your laugh and the way you look when you wake up after a bad dream. I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to, which I don’t, for the record. - Arthur_

_so marry me - e_

_I still don’t know why you need that. - Arthur_

_we could have a kid or own shit together insurance things etc - e_

_You don’t pay our insurance, I do. We already own the house together, and the cars. You want to have children? - Arthur_

_not right now but someday and we’d need to be married for legal shit right - e_

_Not “need,” no, but it would make it easier. What if I don’t want kids? - Arthur_

_fuck off u slobber over cobb’s kids like they’re urs already - e_

_So that’s why you want to get married? For kids? - Arthur_

_no i want to marry you for you - e_

_But why? - Arthur_

_b/c i couldnt bear it if i couldnt call u my husband & b/c i want something real & solid & in writing that says we love each other & we’re in this forever. i want u as long as we both shall live - e_

_Till death do us part? - Arthur_

_i’m not saying obey fuck that shit - e_

_I’m Jewish, you’re Catholic. Is that a problem? - Arthur_

_when was the last time we went to church arthur we’ll just go to a judge - e_

_Fuck you, Mr. Eames, I’m having a wedding. My sister will kill me if I don’t let her wear a red dress and hit on all the men. - Arthur_

_no priests or rabbis tho - e_

_Of course not. - Arthur_

_so that’s a yes then - e_

_Of course it is. - Arthur_

—-

Arthur picks out the suits, because Eames doesn’t give a shit as long as there aren’t any prayers and Arthur says yes. That he lets Eames wear his favorite tie — the orange paisley that Arthur has threatened to burn more than once — is a wedding present, and makes Arthur grit his teeth even as he’s laughing at his sister making bedroom eyes at every man there. 

Their vows are boring, straightforward: a mix of lines from the services Eames saw as a kid and the ceremony Arthur’s used to from his synagogue, with any lines about “obey” excised. Cobb stands behind Arthur, and Eames produces a single, gorgeous sister of the right age to stand behind him, and they laugh and smile their way through the ceremony. They kiss and everyone cheers, almost a hundred people, and then there’s dancing.

Eames, for the record, is a fantastic dancer, all slithering energy and smiles. He pulls Arthur out onto the floor and they don’t stop moving until everyone else has collapsed into rented cars and gone home. Two weeks in Paris and two weeks in London for a honeymoon, and they’re home again, to the sprawling house on the coast. 

—-

“You sure about this?” Arthur’s eyes are dark and nervous, and his hands are shaking even as Eames is gripping them with all his strength. “A bit late to be asking, I guess.”

“Only thing I’m surer of is you, pet.” They kiss then, brief and soft and full of things they still have a hard time saying.

“Here she is, then,” and the nurse is handing them the wrapped-up thing and there’s a tuft of black hair poking out. “The paperwork’s all done, just need you to sign here and here and you’ll be free to take her home.”

Eames holds her while Arthur signs things, staring down at her face. “She looks like you, darling,” and she really does, those round eyes and black curls and what will no doubt turn out to be high cheekbones under the baby fat.

Arthur can’t seem to catch his breath, signs the last paper. “She’s here, and she’s ours, Eames.” He laughs, a high wondering sound. “She’s ours.”

“Come look at her, then.” 

Arthur seems almost scared to touch her, to trace the black curl falling over her forehead. She’s too young to smile yet, obviously, but she’s grunting happily and squinting up at them and Arthur sniffles just a touch. He would be embarrassed by that, probably, if Eames wasn’t dripping tears like a fountain. 

In the car home, Arthur keeps peeking back at her. “We still haven’t picked a name. Why don’t you like Alice again?”

“She’s no Alice, look at her!” Eames peers into the rearview mirror. “What about Rebekah? Don’t pull a face, Arthur, I thought you’d like it.”

“Hannah?”

They both pull a face at that one. Eames has a name, one he loves, and one he’s sure Arthur will hate, and he’s never, ever brought it up. When they get home and the baby still doesn’t have a name, though, he spits it out. “Evelyn.” 

Arthur is holding her, bouncing a bit, smiling down into her face. “I like it. What do you think, little thing?” The baby gurgles a bit, on cue, as if she’d learned her lines already, and they laugh. “Evelyn, then. Hi, honey.”

Eames strides over to Arthur, presses a kiss into the patch of skin behind his ear. “Hello, Evie, love. Hello.”

**Author's Note:**

> [title from "Mushaboom" by Feist]


End file.
